


Plagued || Everlark

by tinasnewt



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Flashback, Hijacked Peeta, Mutts, peeta chokes katniss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinasnewt/pseuds/tinasnewt
Summary: I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS THIRTEEN DONT JUDGE IT TOO HARSHLY"The truth will shatter his heart forever"the nightmares never stopped.every night katniss is plagued with them, but there are nights where not even peeta can calm her screams. and those are the nights that make her feel the worst. because they are about him. about something he wants, but he'll never get. something that, if he learns about it, will break him beyond repair.





	Plagued || Everlark

  There are nights where I wake up and not even Peeta can calm my screams. Those nights are the worst of all. But, it takes more of an emotional toll on him, though, the thought that even he can't cure my misery. The problem is, I can't tell him what I dream about. Or I'll risk breaking his heart.

Last night was one of those nights.

My throat is hoarse as I step out of bed, careful not to wake Peeta. I chug a glass of water I leave on my bedside table every night, but my throat still aches.

My covered feet patter down the stars, and I tiptoe quietly into the small kitchen. I pop a toaster waffle into the toaster and prepare myself another glass of water. The chilly air of the refrigerator makes my hairs stand on end as I grab the maple syrup, but I warm up as soon as I close it. Beeping sounds come from the black microwave as I set the time for the syrup to heat up. 

I move to open the white-trimmed window, and hear the songs the birds sing in the morning. Warm air filters in through the screen with a light breeze.

My waffle pops out of the toaster and I grab it while it's still hot, and cut it into six individual pieces. I then drown it in syrup, chewing slowly to savor the taste. 

When I finish eating, I put my plate into the white sink and tighten my olive green robe. I turn around and gasp as I see Peeta standing at the archway, and he is fully dressed already. I try to ignore the redness under his eyes

"Good Morning," I say cheerfully, smiling at him. I walk towards him and he just stares at me with this blank look. Funny.

I snake my arms around his waist and look at his blue orbs. They gleam like a child's who's played too many video games in a day. And that seems very off.

"Are you okay?" I ask, resting my head in the spot where his heart beats. I feel as his chest rises then sinks as he takes deep breaths. Suddenly, the motion reminds me of the time he almost died in the arena, where Finnick saved his life. The thought of Finnick reminds me of his death. I grip Peeta's shirt, forcing the memories away.

I look up, and see his eyes turning dark. Like they always do when he has a flashback. 

I let go of his shirt and take a step back cautiously. He looks up at me, half hijacked, half him, but the real him is falling before my eyes, no longer fighting the mutt inside him.

"I'm a..." he mutters quietly, looking down at his hands, then up at me again. A face of confusion stares back at me, and I have nothing to do.

"I'm a mutt," he says, a look of anger growing in his eyes. I take a few more steps back, but my back hits the corner. If he goes full-out, I'm screwed. The door is all the way to the left, and if I bolt he will run out and we can't have civilians at risk.

"I'm a mutt," he cries again, louder, "I'm a mutt, I'm a mutt! I'm a mutt! I'm a mutt!" He yells, walking towards me at an increasingly fast pace.

"You're not a mutt!" I yell, as he starts walking even faster towards me. The fear grows in me when he's only three feet away and I can see the absolute blackness of his eyes. 

"Peeta, you're not a mutt, I promise, you're the boy I love. Please, you're not a-"

He shoves me back into the counter, and I cry out in surprise. He grabs me by the hair and brings my face to his.

"You made me a mutt! It's your fault, my family is dead because of you!" He screams, his fist connecting with my eye. I yell out, and my hands reach to cradle the spot he punched.I manage to break free of his grip and grab onto his arms, struggling to hold on.

"You're not a mutt! You're Peeta Mellark, you're not a mutt!" My voice breaks at "Mellark," and he seems to calm down a small bit.

"You're a baker, a painter, you always double knot your shoelaces, you sleep with the window open, no matter how hot or cold it is," I whisper into his ears.

He manages to sink down to the floor and just starts muttering about how he's a mutt.

"Peeta," I cry, "you're not a mutt."

He doesn't look up, he just puts his hands to his ears and starts rocking, the same words repeating over and over.

I sink down next to him, grabbing one of his hands. My eye throbs violently and aches where he punched me, but my only focus is getting him back.

"I'm a mutt, I'm a mutt..." he says, his voice slowing at every word.

"Shh," I say, cautiously bringing my free hand to his hair, stroking it as he rocks. "You're not a mutt."

When the worst of it passes, and I know he's coming back, I stand up and walk to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, my eye looks terrible. It's bright red and swelling, and there is a small cut where his knuckles touched right below my eyebrow. Makeup won't cover this up. Meaning he'll have to see what he did. That's not what I want. I don't want him to know he hurt me, however much he did.

As I'm gently patting my eye with a wet wash cloth, the door bursts open. The action is so sudden I drop the wash cloth to the floor. It hits my foot and makes me uncomfortable but I'm frozen.

Peeta rushes in, and I can see in his eyes he's him again. I quickly look down, hiding the right side of my face from his. But I can't hide forever.

I blink a long blink, wincing a bit as I do so, since my eye feels like it's on fire. His feet make loud noises as he walks up to me, until the small rustle of the shag rug I'm standing in silences his steps.

"Katniss, are you okay?" He asks, taking another step towards me. I move my head, opening a white drawer and pretending to be busy looking for something.

"Moderately," I say, and as I feel his hand touch the exact spot where my back hit the counter I tense up. "F..." I whisper quietly, not wanting to say the full word.

Taking notice of my tenseness, he moves his hand to my shoulder. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, a little less convincing. And I'm a terrible liar. Sometimes I wish I had his skills at painting and lying. Both would be handy at this point.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you're okay."

Now I've really blown it. Peeta's going to know either way. Slowly, achingly slow, I turn to look at him. My eye throbs as I meet his eyes. 

A look of guilt floods his face when his eyes meet mine. They slip towards the wound he gave me during a flashback.

"You said you were fine," he says angrily through gritted teeth, his fists clenching together.

"I am fine," but my voice is small, like a child's. And as if the world was against me, a shooting pain goes through my back as I lean, making me wince very noticeably.

"Your eye isn't okay. Your back isn't okay, what else isn't okay? What else did I do to you, Katniss?" He's in tears now, fighting down cries as he realizes what "he" did to me.

"Peeta, it wasn't you, it was Snow, it was all Snow, but he's dead now, were safe, I promise you I'm okay," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"No," he yells, shoving me off him.

"Peeta-"

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep waking up to you in so much pain and not being able to help you. That hurts me, Katniss, and it makes me feel so guilty because I know you're dreaming about me when I'm having a flashback, and you dream about me killing everyone you love. And... and I just can't live with that. I can't live like this. Not knowing after a flashback if I hurt you or not," he says, looking at me with the ultimate guilt and hurt in his eyes. My hand rests on the marble counter top, and I grip it hard for support.  
I never realized I hurt him this bad when I wouldn't let him comfort me. 

"I..." I stutter, my voice low and quiet, "I never realized that... that it affected you so much. I'm so sorry, Peeta, I really am. I just..." I don't know what to say. There are so many things he needs to know, that he needs to be told about how I feel, but how am I supposed to bring those problems up when they don't even relate to this situation?

"Katniss, are you not telling me something?"

I let go of the counter, sliding down until my bottom hits the shaggy rug underneath my feet. Peeta kneels down beside me, looking at my face in a concerned way. I look down, not meeting his eyes.

"I don't dream about you having flashbacks. I don't dream about you killing people. I dream about..." a lump starts to form in my throats, the guilt setting in. This will crush him if I say it, because this is the one thing he's hoped for, and asked for, in the fourteen years we've been married. 

"What is it that you dream about, Katniss?" His warm hands reach mine, and he holds both in his lap. The white rug's soft spirals are the only thing I look at. I will myself to look up, and the look in his bright blue orbs completely breaks me. It's as if my heart shattered in my chest. I know, I know, if I tell him he will feel the same way, only ten times worse. 

The dreams are so vivid. Him, sitting in the meadow behind our house, laughing as he watches our daughter dance and run, her long, dark hair trailing in a braid that mimics mine. Her blue eyes shining with happiness as she plays. Our son, only three years younger than her, his small and chubby legs struggling to chase his sister. His blonde hair shines in the sun, and he is a replica of his father except for my gray seam eyes. And then me, sitting on a small blanket next to Peeta, watching them as he does. Our hands are intertwined, and my head is leaning on his shoulder, covered in a white shirt that buttons up three times at the top. I look at his prosthetic leg, and it reminds me of what we have overcome. We have beaten this world, and now we can enjoy peace. 

The girl with the brown hair leaves her brother and comes up to me.  
All that fills my sight is her beautiful face, her eyes so innocent, burning into mine with wonder and curiosity. As I stare into her, or Peeta's, eyes, she begins to speak.

"Mommy, what do you know about the Hunger Games?"

That's when I wake up. Those are the nights Peeta can't help me. Every time, the same dream. The same fear that consumes my entire being.

"Peeta... I dream about us. Our future."

"Our future? What's bad about that?" He asks, real worry in his voice. A finger gently strokes my cheek, wiping a tear away. 

"It's not... it's... Peeta god damn it, I know this is going to break your heart and I just can't say it," I sob, the blue eyes of our hypothetical daughter burning into my brain, filling my entire mind with "Mommy, what do you know about the Hunger Games?" Echoing throughout my head, engulfing me with her voice.

I finally crack. "I dream about kids! Our kids, the one you've been asking and asking for ever since before we were married. That's why you can't help me, because it breaks my heart knowing I'm breaking you're heart in the process. I dream about how beautiful they are, how happy we are, but then she comes up to me every time and asks me about the Games and I just cannot have that!"

He doesn't even try to hide the hurt and disappointment in his voice, "You don't want kids."

He's crying now. It makes me feel like the single worst person on this planet. I made my true love's heart shatter. I look down at my hands, ashamed, and start picking at the rug. 

"I-I should've told you before, I just didn't know how because you were so hopeful and you want them so, so badly."

"If you didn't want them, why wouldn't you just tell me from the start? Why did you have to put me through all of this and get my hopes up?" Peeta yells, snot dripping out of his nose. His voice is cracking, like his whole world was just destroyed. 

Maybe it was.

"I didn't know. It's not that I don't want them, Peeta, it's the fact that they're going to have to learn about the world we lived in, about the Hunger Games, and I can't have that. I want kids, so, so badly but I just don't know if I could do it. I'm sorry."

He just shakes his head, and hot tears drop into his hands, and the cheeks that have always been so soft are a bright red. 

"Peeta, you're the love of my life and seeing you like this... if this is what my decision is causing you to feel, I'll have children," I whisper, putting my hand on his shoulder, and I realize he is wearing the shirt he wears in my dreams.

I think about it. I want kids, I've always wanted kids ever since I was a kid. I just didn't want to bring them into a world where the Hunger Games existed. That world doesn't exist anymore. I live in the New Panem, where everywhere is even. There are no Hunger Games or President Snows. There's only dandelions in the spring that bloom in the meadow and beautiful leaves in the fall that illuminate the forest behind. Yes, they will have to learn about our past. They will have to learn about how Katniss Everdeen, at age 16, competed in a fight to death and started a war. About how their father was captured and tortured to the point where he only remembered the things Snow lied about to him. They'll see the scars on us, they'll hear the scars left on us as we hold each other or scream from the nightmares that have plagued us for years. But they won't feel the pain Peeta and I felt. They'll feel the joy of love and peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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